Icing and Airships
by Rainsaber
Summary: From the 'Bitter to Sweet' universe. Athos comes home to a surprise that involves family, friends, memories, and traditional and non-traditional uses of desserts. D'Artagnan/Athos Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Icing and Airships**

**Summary:** From the 'Bitter to Sweet' universe. Athos comes home to a surprise that involves family, friends, memories, and traditional and non-traditional uses of desserts. D'Artagnan/Athos Slash.

**Author's Notes: **After a severe case of the giggles in the kitchen making Christmas cookies with my mother, this fic after much lazing about finally got finished. And also after much poking and prodding with foam noodles XP. There's a few things here and there that will refer to the larger 'Bitter to Sweet' story-some things of which haven't been written yet-but this can still be read separately without much confusion. This is about 10 years or so after the first novel, so D'Artagnan is obviously much older, as is Athos and everyone else. Raoul however is about eight or nine months old.

**Warnings:** This story will be a two-parter. The first chapter will be for general audiences and chapter two will be for MATURE audiences ONLY! Hence the rating, kiddies. If you're not supposed to be here go scamper away now. This story is rated for sexual content in the second chapter and it is also a SLASH story, as stated in the summary.

**Disclaimer:** The Three Musketeers and its characters rightfully belong to Alexandre Dumas. I'm just a serial borrower.

* * *

Athos dismounted from his horse and bit back a groan. He now understood why his father had always grumbled about growing old. The harsh winters made it particularly keen when the cold seemed to so easily settle into his bones no matter the number of layers he wore. And riding back from Paris before the breaking of yet another snowstorm compounded his current problems. Yes, he was home and he thanked God for it, but if there wasn't a blazing fire going in the library Grimaud would be better saved running for the mountains than trying to escape his master's shivering wrath.

The servant in question silently took the reins and quickly moved to tend to the horse while Athos all but ran into the house. Inside the foyer he pulled off his damp gloves and cloak and dropped them in a sodden melting pile on the stone floor. The cool temperature of the house alone was warmer than outside, but he continued upstairs to seek a better source of warmth than a shield from the bitter wind. He cupped his hands and blew on them to get some of the feeling back. As he went, he was surprised to note that the house was quiet. Even Raoul's voice was nowhere to be found, which made Athos think he was down for an afternoon nap, as the boy had recently taken to testing the volume of his voice on every waking occasion.

On his way to the library he peeked into his son's nursery and raised an eyebrow at the empty crib. Perhaps he was with his nurse? He hadn't heard her in the kitchen, and neither had she come to greet him at the door…

Athos stilled.

A soft noise from down the hallway.

From the library.

The muffled voice of a man.

And the voice did not belong to D'Artagnan.

On instinct, his hand drifted toward the pistol that he had stuck in the back of his belt as an earlier precaution for the roads. A thick seed of worry settled in his gut, but he ignored it as he inched down the hallway, on light feet. He stopped in front of the door to the library to find it cracked open. A fire was roaring on the hearth from the light on the walls. And there were shadows. Three of them. And one with a small bundle in his arms. He held his breath to keep his rage at bay and tightened his hold on the gun behind his back. Then he slowly pushed the door open.

The second he did a cacophony of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ATHOS!" (D'Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis, his mind barely registered in the middle of-) and "AAAAAAAAAAA!" (courtesy of Raoul once D'Artagnan took his hand away from the boy's mouth) assaulted his ears.

Understandably, he stood in the doorway in shock for the better part of a minute before he could process what had just happened. Relief was the first thing he felt, his grip on the gun going slack. Then came the confusion, but even in the midst of it he allowed a soft smile to grace his face and brighten his features. It had been some months since he'd seen his friends together, and everyone under the same roof again for his…oh.

It was his birthday, wasn't it?

D'Artagnan passed Raoul over to an eager Porthos, who bounced the giggling boy happily. Then D'Artagnan crossed over to Athos, brisk and not without a bit of trepidation. "It was their idea," D'Artagnan whispered. "I'm sorry. I tried to explain-"

"No, don't be," Athos replied, softly so neither Aramis nor Porthos would hear. "I'm just relieved I don't have to kill anyone in my home." *

D'Artagnan winced. "I thought sending Grimaud out to meet you would help."

"It's fine. I appreciate the thought most of all." Athos pulled D'Artagnan close by his hips and leaned down to kiss him. Just as their lips met D'Artagnan jerked and let out something of a yelp. He blushed a bit at his own response before offering an excuse. "_God,_ you're cold!"

Without anything further, and to Athos' grumbling, his lover pulled him over to a seat by the fire to warm up. Along the way Aramis and Porthos both embraced and welcomed him, and he to them in return. No sooner had Athos sat down did Porthos plop Raoul into his lap. "Now don't be a grouch," Porthos bolstered on. "It's your birthday! And by God you are going to have a party!"

"Small as it is," Aramis amended. "We thought you could use a break from all this work you're drowning yourself in, Athos."

"A vineyard doesn't grow by itself," Athos protested.

"BAAA," Raoul exclaimed, squirming and bouncing on his father's knee.

Porthos laughed. "You see? The boy is in agreement with us!"

After much debate, and Porthos fussing over the finer details of what they should do first, it was decided that presents should prelude the beautiful looking chocolate birthday cake-made by both Katharina, Raoul's nursemaid, and Grimaud-topped with a creamy hazelnut icing. Athos thanked them both, to which Katharina merely blushed and curtseyed while Grimaud nearly keeled over with the shock of praise and gratitude. D'Artagnan thoughtfully plucked Raoul from Athos lap before Porthos delivered his present, wrapped-of course-with an outrageously shiny bow.

Athos felt himself color a little at the outward show of care that he just simply had done without for so long. "_None_ of you had to do this!"

"You're a count again, Athos," Porthos proclaimed. "Or on your way to becoming one. It shouldn't be too much longer before Louis decides he can't do without your wine. You have to start looking the part."

Athos pulled the ribbon aside with a little trepidation for what lay inside, and when he opened the box he felt his eyebrows raise a little. Inside was a jacket done in rich browns and a cravat done in an off-white, which paired with the jacket looked rather tastefully done, and most importantly not overdone. The fabric was soft, but made thick for the winters, and in the light reflected a soft pattern of fleur-de-lises that otherwise Athos would not have taken note of.

"You oaf," Athos exclaimed, looking to Porthos with a gentle incredulity. "You are too ridiculous for words. Thank you, Monsieur _Baron_."

Porthos grinned from ear to ear. "You're welcome, Monsieur _Count_."

Athos stood up to embrace the large man and was nearly lifted off his feet, as usual. As they sat back down Porthos turned his stupid grin towards Aramis and D'Artagnan, as if friendly challenging the other two to do better. Aramis rolled his eyes with a smile. And D'Artagnan looked completely unfazed.

"How exactly did you come by my measurements," Athos asked, the question prodding him since setting eyes on the jacket.

Porthos coughed and looked a little out of place. "Sorry? Can't quite hear you over the little one, Athos."

Athos raised an eyebrow, but quickly let the matter drop as Aramis reached down towards his traveling bag and pulled out two things. One was a bottle of red wine Athos easily recognized. "You don't mean to tell me you went all the way to Italy to get this?"

"I did," Aramis admitted. "In the case my other plans for your birthday fell through. But thankfully they didn't." He then handed Athos the other item, wrapped in a dark silk cloth.

Athos handed the wine off to Grimaud and had him pour four glasses. Then he turned the wrapped item over in his hands, eyeing Aramis for any clues, but receiving nothing. So, he unwrapped it, and felt his lips part in shock. He had to blink more than a few times to assure himself that what he was seeing was real. Then he looked to Aramis for an explanation, not trusting his eyes to be tricking him.

The priest smiled and leaned forward on his knees. "His Holiness's secretary owed me a favor from some time back when we were initiates. I know you had given up looking for it long ago."

"What is it," D'Artagnan asked.

"It's the original manuscript of my family history," Athos breathed, almost afraid to touch the yellowed and browned vellum pages. "Written in the hand of my fifteen-times great-grandmother Eleanora at the end of her lifetime. This was the predecessor to that tapestry behind the desk. This manuscript was stolen from her eldest son in a raid and recovered by a monk on a pilgrimage to Rome. I have always wondered how accurate that tapestry was, as it was made a hundred years after this piece of history was lost. There are not many pieces of French history like this that still survive, something written in a woman's hand in a time when few women knew how to read."

"I suspect that was why it was so well-guarded," Aramis commented. "But don't worry, I wouldn't expect any papal soldiers outside your door to come looking for it."

Athos narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

Aramis smirked. "As of last week, that manuscript is officially lost."

Athos went to ask how, but stopped himself, not wanting to know any more. Just having this piece of his ancestry, his inheritance, something he had long considered more valuable than anything in the world, was enough for him. "You sound like you are bored in that monastery of yours, Aramis."

"Sadly so," the man sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"I don't know how to thank you for this."

"You just did," the priest said, rising and pulling his friend into an embrace. "Happy Birthday, Athos."

Athos swallowed past a strange little lump in his throat and gingerly wrapped the manuscript back up in the silk cloth, setting it aside in a safe place to examine further later.

"And you will just have to wait for my present later. For now," D'Artagnan said, raising his glass of wine and ignoring Porthos groaning in good nature. "To Athos, and to pleasant surprises."

"Hear hear," Porthos boomed, raising his own glass in response.

"And to many many more years," Aramis added.

"God willing," Athos replied, humbled beyond belief.

The four friends drank from their glasses, and even Grimaud and Katharina paused in their preparations to observe the toast in their own way. Athos looked around the room, at friends who had certainly aged gracefully, all gone different paths, and still managed to come back together again under one roof and celebrate with more gusto than they had in the past. Athos had friends. Athos had a lover, someone to love and be loved by in return, truthfully and completely in every way that was possible for two people. And Athos had a son. Athos had a family, in all these men. He had a future, which was more than he thought he would ever have serving as a lonely disenchanted and bitter soldier. If he had been looking for death before, then he certainly looked forward to life now.

And, yes.

All that it had in store for him.

Raoul pulled himself up into a standing position, holding onto D'Artagnan's knee and reached up towards the wine glass he held. "Aaaa!"

"Nooo. Not until you're much older," D'Artagnan scolded gently, putting the glass out of the boys reach.

The boy pouted and sank back onto his bottom. D'Artagnan reached down to pick him up but Raoul chose instead to crawl across the carpet to Athos. When he got to his father he reached up to grab Athos' boot and pant leg to haul himself up. Athos watched the boy like a hawk, but was careful to let his son do all the work. Raoul smiled when he was done, looking to his father for praise, which Athos freely gave, even in the presence of Aramis and Porthos. A small part of him still wanted to shy away from open affection, but as he learned quickly with his son, and also due to D'Artagnan's continued efforts, it was becoming much harder for him to give in to the old days.

Grimaud handed him a plate with a piece of his birthday cake as Katharina handed the others theirs.

Raoul, using his father's propped leg as leverage, stepped closer to him, eyeing the plate with curiosity. As a reward, Athos swiped a little drop of icing onto his fork and held it out for Raoul to taste. The boy opened his mouth without question and as soon as the sugar was gone Athos had the boy cooing for more, grunting wordless noises in agitation when he felt his father wasn't feeding him fast enough. After Raoul had eaten half the icing from Athos' piece of cake, he decided the boy had enough sugar in his system, since he was holding onto his father's pant leg and all but bouncing up and down in happiness.

To distract the boy from craving more sugar, D'Artagnan picked Raoul up off the floor and bounced him around on his hip around the room. Then he maneuvered the baby until he was belly-down and made wooshing noises as he carried Raoul with his arms out all around the room. 'Airships' as it had been called, was one of Raoul's favorite games. The look of pure awe on the boy's face was the reason why they played the game practically five times a day. And at the moment, Athos sat back and ate the rest of his cake in complete contentment.

D'Artagnan growled in good nature as he maneuvered Raoul back up into a regular position. Raoul cooed, open mouthed and joyful, as D'Artagnan pulled faces at him. Athos found himself smiling too, and if Porthos or Aramis tried to get his attention he never noticed. The man he loved played with his son without a care for how silly he appeared, lightly tossing Raoul into the air again and again, giggle after giggle. And in that moment of silent observation, Athos decided he would take the sound of his son's laughter and the perfect image of his lover so carefree and brilliant with him against any adversary he had yet to face.

With them as defenses, Athos knew nothing could ever break him.

At the end of the evening Raoul ended up in Aramis' lap, quietly snoring away, and against the priests wishes. What had Athos nearly barking out loud in laughter was the look of pure bewilderment on his friend's face and his tense form, fearing to even breathe for fear of waking the baby. Aramis had never been one for children, and it was one of the oddest things Athos had ever seen. Porthos had named it 'The Curse of the Cloth,' how it made women run blinding mad after him and made babies no matter the gender scream bloody murder as soon as they rested in his arms. They had never found the reason for it, and had thus grown to accept it as a strange normality.

Even once when Monsieur de Treville didn't believe them, thinking they were simply trying to get Aramis out of duty on his behalf, he learned. Oh did the captain learn from his folly that day. Ever since then, whenever the matter of a child came to Treville's desk, he knew not to put the poor creature within ten miles of Aramis, which usually meant none of them had dealings with children, which was fine with them at the time. Give me a sword-wielding rogue any day of the week, Athos thought to himself. Children and missions just did not mix well for them and never had.

D'Artagnan brought him back to the present with an arm around his back and a kiss on the side of his neck beside his ear. "And lo, the curse has been broken," D'Artagnan whispered.

'Don't jynx it,' Aramis mouthed.

"Sorry," D'Artagnan asked.

Aramis jerked a bit and tried to shush D'Artagnan, but stilled as soon as Raoul shifted. When the baby fell back to sleep, or rather when Aramis felt absolutely positive that the baby went back to sleep, he glared over at all three of his companions who were sporting identical looks of laughter-choked glee. They let Aramis sweat for a little while longer before Athos reluctantly left D'Artagnan's arms to gather his sleeping son.

"Give him to me," Athos said. "I'll put him down for the night."

Aramis happily obliged and sagged in relief as soon as the burden was in someone else's hands. "You know I don't do well with babies," Aramis hissed.

Porthos snickered, relentless in his teasing. "So does every babe and his mother from this side of the country to the southern border."

Aramis sent a scathing glare over to Porthos.

Raoul stirred a bit, prompting his father to bid goodnight to his friends.

D'Artagnan put a hand on Athos' back by the doorway. "I'll see them to their rooms for the night. Take your time. And come to bed when you're done," he said, softly making the skin of his lover's ear and neck tingle with sharp need and intrigue.

* * *

_*This was a reference to a plot point, which hasn't been developed yet in the main 'Bitter to Sweet' storyline, but eventually will be. I don't want to give too much away, but suffice it to say, Athos has good reasons to be a little edgy at hearing unfamiliar voices in his house. _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is the MATURE chapter of the story. Adults only from here on out. Kiddies, kindly avert your eyes and find something else to read. This chapter includes sexual content and SLASH, hence the rating. Mind the warning and there won't be any surprises. For the adults, if this happens to be your cup of tea, proceed and enjoy. **

* * *

Athos cracked the door to his son's nursery on his way out. Raoul had gone down without a fuss and barely any acknowledgement at all other than a little sniffle and repositioning. Every day, Athos thought to himself. Every day he could feel the effects that child was having on him. Even the simple act of laying the blanket that Raoul's mother finished for him, in her last days, over his small body struck him as something profound. He couldn't help leaning over the crib with his warm hand on his son's steadily rising and falling back. He couldn't help but ignore the soreness creeping into his own back at the awkward angle. And he couldn't help but smile, knowing no one was looking at him.

Today's miserable start was ending with a quiet beauty.

In friendship.

In fatherhood.

All and more to come in love.

This must be what it feels like to know true wealth, he thought to himself.

Athos gazed at his son for what felt like hours. And when he could finally tear himself away he gave the child one last look before crossing the short distance to his own room. He peeked inside, finding the room warm with a big fire in the fireplace. There were small candles lit on either end table against the wall. Athos looked around for D'Artagnan but initially found the room empty. He edged further into the room, finding naught else out of place or added to what items usually littered their bedroom, until his eyes fell on a bowl in the middle of the bed.

A bowl?-

"Don't turn around."

Despite the gentle warning Athos started to turn his head and felt a hand stop his progress, and curl into his loose hair.

"_Don't _or you'll ruin the surprise."

Athos exhaled in amusement and didn't bother to hide his eager smirk. Behind him, D'Artagnan closed the door with a soft click. Athos heard his lover approach, thanks to the creaky floorboards he intended to replace with their earnings from the first major harvest, and didn't hear the heaviness of boots. So, barefoot. Just as eager as he was if his mind could stay focused long enough to pause and take his own off. But taking off his boots meant taking focus away from what his hands were truly itching to touch.

"Ruin the surprise," Athos echoed in question. "I'd say I already discovered it."

There was warmth against his back, and the teasing ghost of breath on the back of his neck. "One of them perhaps," his lover whispered. "You should know better than to think less of me."

Suddenly, a scarf came out of nowhere and was secured over his eyes and tied snug at the back of his head. "Afraid I'll uncover more of your secrets," Athos asked.

"Only too soon."

Athos could feel the D'Artagnan's hands linger on his neck and shoulders, and then Athos felt him move his hair to the side and kiss the back of his neck.

"Will you trust me," D'Artagnan asked. A hand was at his back, curling around the side to his hip and continuing on to the front of his lower chest.

Athos caught that hand and held fast, massaging it in place of snatching and pulling so he could get both of his hands on his lover properly. "It's not my trust you have to worry about," Athos replied. "Only my patience."

"This I know very well."

D'Artagnan gently pushed at Athos hips, urging him towards the bed. He crossed the room, at a snail's pace just to irk the boy, but D'Artagnan said nothing and followed closely. When he told Athos to stop, Athos did. D'Artagnan told him to sit on the bed. Athos obeyed. Then he felt his boots being taken off, and his thick winter socks followed. Shuffling. The creaking of a floorboard-those damned floorboards-then warmth on both of his knees, fingers rubbing teasing circles through his trousers, inching higher up then dipping back down from where they started.

"Lie down."

Athos did.

The bed creaked.

A weight to his right, then to his left, centering right over top of him.

Settling down.

Right on his hips.

A smile pulled at Athos lips as he reached to touch.

But his hands were caught and trapped in both of D'Artagnan's, pinned against the bed, above his head. He could feel the boy lean down, brush noses with his, and ghost his lips down the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, his jaw, and then so close to his lips he tried to kiss the boy himself. But D'Artagnan teased him for a moment longer, chuckling as he went around Athos' face to take his earlobe in between his lips. And what that boy couldn't do to work him up into a frenzy! For all the times Athos had found and exploited those secret spots on his lover's body, D'Artagnan had matched him in his search and taken as much pleasure as Athos had in their loving torture. Athos couldn't help but groan out loud, biting back a few curses as he tried to keep the rest of his writhing body still.

"You remember, don't you," D'Artagnan whispered into his ear. "Our first night?"

"You mean when you nearly undid me," Athos said, his voice unsteady and coming out between soft moans as he leaned toward the sinful sensations. "Like this?"

D'Artagnan sucked on the earlobe again, a little harder than before and easing off into gentle nipping. "Yes. You've gotten much better, love."

Athos clenched his hands into fists, but loosened them when D'Artagnan threaded his fingers between his. "Only because you rarely grant me any mercy."

"Well," D'Artagnan said, smiling. "I'm sure you know the feeling yourself."

"That I do. And if you were not smart enough to hold me down, you would remember very quickly how much I know of you."

Lips trailed down the side of his neck, then around to the front hollow of his throat where they paused to kiss, and trail more chaste kisses all the way back up to Athos' waiting mouth. Athos could feel the barest hint of their lips touching. He wanted to take those lips to his own, but the boy was pressing himself down on Athos so perfectly he couldn't think straight. He answered the bodily pressure by sneaking a leg around the back of D'Artagnan's and rolling his hips upward, quick and firm in wanting. As they rubbed against each other, finding a familiar slow and steady rhythm, Athos couldn't help but think something felt different.

Freer, almost.

More accessible.

And less restrictive.

Then it struck him. And he gasped. The realization must have shown on his face, for he could hear D'Artagnan chuckling again. Something had been pestering Athos at the edge of his passion-hazed mind since the start of this, and until now he hadn't known what it was or why it was so persistent. Something had felt different. And as obvious as it was to him now, through his still clothed body, he couldn't help but want to kick himself for not noticing before.

D'Artagnan had been naked since Athos entered the room.

"You devil," he said.

"Surprise," his lover whispered, letting go of Athos' hands as he spoke.

Athos grabbed at D'Artagnan's body to confirm the realization, rubbing and massaging bare skin and intimate flesh wherever he could get his hands from memory. "You think you're smart."

"Am I to pay for it now? Truth be told, I'm surprised it took you that long-"

He grabbed hold of D'Artagnan's face and pulled him down for a heated kiss. The sweet taste of icing from his birthday cake earlier in the evening sent his tongue wild, making him lick hungrily at every crevice, top to bottom, of his lover's mouth. Between the sugar, the soft needy noises D'Artagnan was making, and Athos' own frustrated growls, they soon descended into kisses that were more suited for passionate dueling than gentle lovemaking. He wound both hands into that thick soft dark hair and barely had the will pull them away to seek more bare pleasure below. As D'Artagnan unbuttoned Athos' outer jacket, Athos refused to separate their lips. D'Artagnan let out a growl of his own at Athos' additional refusal to sit up and allow him to undress him further. Rather than fight it, D'Artagnan ignored the jacket, broke their kissing with harsh panting for air, after much resistance, and focused his attentions on the buttons of Athos' shirt.

Perhaps it was the dizzying colorful dots that danced in front of Athos' blindfolded eyes that immobilized him while D'Artagnan was…where was the boy-on his chest…why on his…oh. Athos reached for his lover, but when he did he felt D'Artagnan already finished with unbuttoning his shirt. With his mouth, of all things. What things couldn't that boy do with his mouth? The memories alone of the challenges D'Artagnan surpassed with that God-given piece of his body, or one of them, were making him mad with want yet again.

D'Artagnan pulled the shirt free of Athos trousers, and paused. "Shall we continue?"

In response, Athos shrugged off his jacket and shirt and tossed both somewhere over the bed behind him. D'Artagnan laid a soft kiss on his navel and made quick work of the ties to Athos' trousers. Athos soundly ignored _how_ D'Artagnan had done it and only gave consideration to the beautiful warmth he felt through that fabric, making his arousal grow painfully alert. Once his trousers were gone Athos could feel those eyes roving over him. He could feel the hot breath-hear it-on his manhood. And feeling, simply feeling his lover's lust for him instead of seeing it gave Athos new eyes.

And a newfound need for more.

D'Artagnan leaned in and kissed him. Him. Not his lips. Just him. And Athos sighed, fisting bunches of sheets in his hands, clenching them tighter and tighter the closer D'Artagnan kissed to the top of him. And just when there was nothing but the tip left to kiss-D'Artagnan moved away. "_Boy_," he warned.

"Be patient-"

"I am _no saint_," Athos protested.

"Neither am I."

Athos gasped again.

Something cold fell on his chest.

And it was…dripping, slower than liquid and thicker than water. Then something warm and slick was dragging across his chest along the same cold path, erasing its slight chill and replacing its thickness with a keener and wider expanse of chilled skin.

A tongue.

A mouth.

Warm breath and ghosting impressions of lips.

Athos had an idea of what was happening, but between the sweet smell and the sensations dropping down to his lower chest, and then to the curve of his hips, he kept silent, listening to the stirring sounds of his lover licking against his skin, sucking, and kissing, tracing the edge of his hairline.

And then a pause.

Athos sighed, both in annoyance and impatience. "Need I beg for it?"

D'Artagnan laughed. "Considering that it's your birthday, no. I'll grant you whatever you want." The boy cupped the mass of flesh beneath his erection and squeezed them as his voice dropped down to a whisper. "You need only say what you want."

Athos huffed and propped himself up on his elbows, still firmly grasping the sheets in his fists. "Your mouth. On me. _Now._"

And true to his word, D'Artagnan obliged. Athos let his head fall back and groaned in appreciation. A delicious mouth, torturous, slow, and savoring that was begging to be snatched up and devoured was the only way Athos knew how to describe D'Artagnan with his mouth around him. It sent him into a hazy place of pleasure, devoid of thought, concern, or logic. To prolong the experience, and also as soon as he was able to get his wits about him, he tugged on D'Artagnan's hair with a raspy whisper.

"Kiss me."

D'Artagnan obeyed, parting Athos' lips with ease and slipping the taste of them both and a sweetness inside. Sugar. Sugar and hazelnut. Traces of chocolate as well. Icing from his birthday cake as he had suspected. Athos clasped the back of D'Artagnan's head and didn't let the boy go until he had all of that delicious sweetness to himself. Once he was done with D'Artagnan's mouth, the boy shifted his weight and whispered, "Open your mouth."

Athos did and felt his lover's finger coated with more icing touch his tongue. He closed his lips around the appendage and sucked, gently lapping up every ounce of icing there was. He could almost hear D'Artagnan's smirking through the blindfold, and in retaliation he took his time with the finger. And even after all the icing was gone, he teased and sucked on it as if it were something else. The boy's breathing grew more ragged, and when Athos could feel him growing restless above him, hips taking on a mind of their own, he let loose a smirk of his own when he finally released D'Artagnan's hand from the confines of his mouth.

"How much of that do we have," Athos asked.

"Enough," was all D'Artagnan had time to say before Athos took hold of him and flipped them, attacking his neck and the hollow just below the boy's ear.

"Enough for the whole night?"

"Maybe," D'Artagnan gasped.

"Mmmm, we'll need more then."

Athos reached down and spread D'Artagnan's legs, settling himself between them with the same familiarity he felt stepping foot in the comfort of his home after time spent away. This house always had an empty feeling of home about it, and for years Athos stoutly refused to even call it that, preferring instead to only think of their old apartments in Paris as such, even when he submitted his retirement and returned. This place was home for only one reason, because D'Artagnan had made it one for them both.

"I've got other ideas," D'Artagnan protested, trying to switch positions.

But Athos was having none of it, reducing any further arguments from D'Artagnan to senseless moaning as he took hold of the boy's erection and massaged it-though there was no need to do much, for both of them were achingly close despite neither wanting to admit it. "And you've run out my patience. It's still my birthday til dawn brings us another day. And I plan on making use of every second."

The boy moaned again when Athos teased a finger at his entrance.

"Now, I know you weren't planning on using that icing for this, were you?"

With a desperate huff, and quick as a rabbit, D'Artagnan shot out from under Athos and reached towards the head of the bed, returning after only two seconds and shoving a well-used jar of scented oil into his hands. Athos chuckled and coated his fingers liberally before feeling his way back down to where D'Artagnan was practically begging for attention. To distract the boy from the pain, which Athos admitted he was getting better and better at hiding, he leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth as he'd done the first night they laid together. Up until this point they had both been trying to be quiet, testing each others limits, and refraining from simply foregoing the foreplay and taking each other with the primal need that was both burning inside of them. With the sharp cry that escaped the boy and the writhing of his body beneath him, never mind his own throbbing need, Athos knew the time for sweet torture was over.

As slow as it was, and no matter how much D'Artagnan begged for it, Athos made sure the boy was well-prepared before he felt his way towards that waiting opening. And before he entered him, Athos took off his blindfold, blinking at the light and finally settling his eyes on his sweaty needy mess of a lover. The sight would have made Athos smile, but instead he only looked on with severe hunger that had waited too long to be answered.

"No more games," Athos rasped.

D'Artagnan nodded, chest heaving and eyes pleading.

Then Athos slowly pushed himself inside.

D'Artagnan clasped a hand over his mouth, moaning into it, and grabbed at the sheets with his other hand. Athos had a hard time keeping quiet himself as he watched the effect ripple over them both. Suddenly, the little things spoke volumes to him. How D'Artagnan's eyes folded in on themselves at the corners when he clenched his eyes shut in pleasure, the color of blood and love rushing to his cheeks, how it sweated out and rolled down his forehead, down his neck and pooled in spots on his chest, and how that chest shuddered in spurts as Athos slowly inched in and out, matching the same rhythm with his hand on the boy's erection. It was all too much, too much building in him without any room to escape. And when D'Artagnan's head fell back, over the edge of the bed, just the sight of that beautiful dark hair spilling down the sheets and that Adam's apple jerking up and down as the boy gasped and moaned, trying to keep himself quiet, started Athos thrusting a little harder into that intimate depth than he normally would have.

"Athos," D'Artagnan pleaded. "Please-please!"

They were both lost sometime after that. Athos slipped his arms behind D'Artagnan's back and neck, supporting him as they both picked up their pacing. D'Artagnan wrapped both his legs around the small of Athos' back and held on tightly, both forgetting how to quiet themselves even next to each other's ears. Athos cradled the back of D'Artagnan's head as they both neared their peak. "Look at me," he rasped. D'Artagnan opened his eyes and the sight of pure need and want and love brought Athos to the very brink. And over it.

They both held each other's gaze, even as their undoings clouded the edge of their vision and ripped shouts and whimpers of never-ending mercy from their quivering lips. And afterwards, they panted and gasped together in one uniform search for breath. Athos couldn't remember who came first as he buried his face in D'Artagnan's neck. He thought it might have been him, but he couldn't be sure. What he was overly certain of was the feeling of D'Artagnan coming just as strongly as Athos did, and the evidence of it now between them. They stayed still, wrapped in each other's arms for a few more moments before Athos slipped out of D'Artagnan and pulled the boy backwards with him to lie on the bed among the pillows and beckoning covers. Still messy from their lovemaking, Athos gave the boy a long and slow kiss full of gratitude and affection. When they parted, D'Artagnan smiled against him and reached for a damp cloth on one of the bedside tables to clean them both up. He was slow and still a little uncoordinated by the aftereffects, but Athos drank in the sight regardless. When he finished, D'Artagnan was still breathless.

"I have something for you," D'Artagnan said.

Athos frowned. "Something more?"

Without another word, D'Artagnan reached behind Athos' head, under the pillows, and pulled out a small box. Athos looked at the small wooden box D'Artagnan pressed into his hands and by the weight and look determined it to be some type of jewelry container, as he had seen plenty of before in passing in the markets. But by D'Artagnan's standards and his penchants for surprises, Athos didn't put his full certainty behind the guess. Athos sat up alongside D'Artagnan and leant against the pillows, sending his lover questions with his eyes. And what exactly was that on D'Artagnan's normally brave face? Fear? Trepidation? It made Athos pause, even before D'Artagnan worked up enough courage to cover his hands with his own. "How long has it been, Athos? How many days have passed since that moment I ran into you and we first knew each other?"

"Nine years and six months," he answered without a second thought.

"Almost ten years," D'Artagnan whispered. "And I am ashamed to say in all that time that much of it was spent in ignorance on my part. Yet you and Aramis and Porthos aided me in ways my parents could no longer on a small farm in Gascony. Even when our paths split you stayed by my side, and when you had to quit Paris you kept me alive with pen and paper, yearning and hoping as a lovesick fool."

"Until we realized we had both been fools for too long," Athos added

D'Artagnan nodded with a beaming smile, and then he took a deep breath and said, "Open the box, Athos."

Athos complied with the request, turning the box towards the light of the fireplace and felt his lips part in surprise. He frowned and then turned to his lover with unsaid questions of why and how. D'Artagnan cleared his throat, sat up straighter, and explained. "The chain is my fathers, passed down to him from my grandfather. My father was not yet born when my grandfather wore that chain into the Battle of Saint-Denis against the Huguenots.* On that chain was a crucifix of Christ and it was lost that day because it saved my grandfather's life, but he didn't notice its absence until he saw the banner of victory and of his countrymen flying high above on the hill when the enemy was finally driven off."

"And the ring," Athos asked, softly and in wonder.

D'Artagnan turned serious and looked on Athos with those same passion-filled eyes he had seen so many times before, in private and in the public eye of battle in defense of his beliefs and duties. "I _love you_ with everything that I am, and what I have isn't much, but for most this ring would be their world, their claim to their God given rights to love whom they choose. I know we cannot have the same, but you have my heart. And this band is the shape of it now because of you and Raoul. You've made it whole, when I had no reason to believe it ever would be again."

Athos laid the wooden box down on the sheets beside them and took D'Artagnan's face in both of his hands, bringing their foreheads and noses together, lips mere centimeters apart. He stared into his lover's eyes as he caressed the boy's cheeks with his fingers. "Would that I could give you what this truly means."

D'Artagnan rubbed Athos arms and felt his way up to Athos hands on the sides of his own face, covering them and then grasping them firmly. "Paper burns and turns to ash over time. And it could ruin us. What we have is enough, Athos. I only wanted you to know of what you will always have, even if every light goes out for the both of us."

"D'Artagnan, you and Raoul are my light. That I will never doubt for _one _second." Then Athos kissed him in his own fashion, silently telling the boy how much he meant to him, and that the gift he received would be a priceless treasure to him as D'Artagnan's body and heart have been. Athos eventually pulled away with a frown. "You're trembling."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "It's nothing but joy, I promise. And perhaps just a little more wanting."

Athos smirked, thinking of the icing still left in the bowl beside them. "Do me the honor, first?"

D'Artagnan reached down to the box and lifted the chain and the ring on it. He slipped it over Athos' head and smiled. Athos took the ring in his fingers and kissed the cool band, keeping level eyes with the boy. "You know there wasn't much hope I gave my own heart. But you've been unyieldingly stubborn."

"Guilty," D'Artagnan admitted with a smirk.

"Thank you," Athos said, leaning down to kiss him again. Then he put his lips to D'Artagnan's ear and whispered, "I love you more than all the treasures of the world, boy."

D'Artagnan turned to him as Athos expected. He'd never felt the need to speak those words aloud before, but just now they had come so naturally and freely that he didn't hesitate to let them go. Somewhat unexpectedly, D'Artagnan pounced on him and attacked his lips with a feverish rush. Athos laughed through his nose, the noise vibrating in his throat and chest under his lover's relentless reply. And, just as Athos had planned and promised, he had succeeded in stirring up D'Artagnan's passions and wants for another one. Athos grabbed hold of the boy and flipped them again, D'Artagnan's own laughter filling the room as Athos showed him just as ready as he could be, damned age difference aside.

Then they both stilled at the sound of a little wail.

Athos sighed and dropped his head down on D'Artagnan's chest, grumbling into it. "Whose bright idea was it to put the nursery directly across the hall?"

"Yours, my love" D'Artagnan answered with a quick peck on the head before he slipped out of bed to throw Athos' larger robe on.

It dwarfed his lover considerably, but Athos paid it no mind, having eyes only for what lay beneath. "Don't think I won't come and find you and drag you back here if you tarry," Athos warned.

D'Artagnan smirked in the doorway before going out. "Perhaps I should. You've been threatening to tie me to the bedposts for months now. I'm starting to think you're only saying it for sport."

Athos growled when D'Artagnan disappeared, and stewed in his own lust until the boy dared enter their bedroom again

* * *

**A/N: It took me forever to write it, and although it was definitely a challenge, it's done. And for a while I wasn't sure it was coming out good at all, but I hope it did in the end. And before any more of their escapades come to light (then again who knows with these muses), I want to try and return to the main storyline of 'Bitter to Sweet' and finish that up first. Fingers crossed I eventually do. Long weekend. Long next couple of days. My day off on Wednesday just cannot come soon enough XP.**

*** The Battle of Saint-Denis was fought in 1567 in the French Wars of Religion between Catholics and Protestants. It was fought near Paris and was a victory for the Catholics despite a long battle and also losing their commander, Anne de Montmorency. **


End file.
